


The Leadsinger and The Bassist

by coffee_addicted



Category: Bandom, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Dallons isn´t REALLY a teacher, F/F, M/M, Slow Burn, Suicide Attempt, Teacher-Student Relationship, kind of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-27
Updated: 2017-06-03
Packaged: 2018-11-05 12:22:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11013342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coffee_addicted/pseuds/coffee_addicted
Summary: Brendon knew that it had been a stupid idea! Okay?! He knew!But why the hell did they send him to Ohio?And what the hell was wrong with this school?Oh! He had a four year old sister? Good to know!(Basically a high school AU where some band members are students in a fudged up school they have revenge on while Brendon slowly becomes Panic!King again)





	1. Prologue

Beside everything, beside of what he was doing right at this moment, Brendon felt completely calm.

Maybe for the first time in months. He swallowed against the too dry feeling in his mouth, almost as if he had swallowed something like dust or sand. He literally just became a depressive teenager cliché. Running away from all his problems instead of trying to go and stand up against them. But as he blinked up at the bathroom ceiling, Brendon really could not bring himself to care. Maybe because everything was slowly turning numb. His body was shivering, if with the Adrenalin or the steady blood loss. He had read about it so carefully, eager to not mess up a thing. Brendon just should have run in some warm water instead of laying himself down in a dry bathtub. Because he felt as if his body was freezing. The left wrist he had pushed against his chest, where he felt the drumming rhythm of his heartbeat with his hand, burned. Of course it did. At first there had not been any pain. If out of shock or because he carefully sorted the kitchen knives they had, until he found the sharpest. Now it burned, not like fire, but it was not a stabbing pain either. Instead something steady. Once again blinking, he started to feel not just numb, but also sleepy. According to the tons of pages he read, the pain was supposed to stop now.

It honestly did not. It just became worse and he started to feel sticky from sweating. Brendon held his left wrist where the cut was. From his wrist approximately five or six centimeters to his elbow. A straight line, careful to not hit anything else but the main vein. Yes, he may slept in school and acted like a jerk more often then not. But he was actually good. As in good notes in exams or any kind of test. At least if he was not too bored by it and did nothing but writing his name on the front sheet. So finding the main vein in his left wrist? Please. They did the vein system in seventh grade. The grip was not really a grip trough, he just slightly held it, nothing that could make the blood flow stop. If four months ago somebody would have told him, that he would commit suicide in his bathroom, while his Mum was once again on a business trip, Brendon would not just have told them too stop drinking, taking whatever they took, he would have slapped them right in the face. Yet here he was. A silent chuckle escaped him, it was a dry and breathless sound that he barely heard over the white noise in his eras. If Brendon Urie would be just a bit less proud he could admit that he was starting to feel a bit panic.

The blood straining his t-shirt, pooling under him, felt lukewarm. And it was so much that he did not even wanted to risk a short glance. The average human body had in general about eight liters of blood. Brendons mind was too fuzzy to guess how much he already lost, But Brendon was sure that he would pass out any second, so he would not need to think about it. He let his mind wander. Brendon saw a sun-like smile, impressive dark brown eyes, he hear tunes, almost felt the vibration of instruments playing around him while he sung himself horse and jumped around. He felt lips, a show for their audience and a sign of love. Because they had not been stage gay since they where fifteen. And he hugged somebody, maybe Jon, jumped on Spencer's drum kit, having the time of his life. Like every time.

But the brown eyes became cold, he was pushed away from a kiss, the sun-like smile turned twisted and the so sweet voice poisoned his ears. A sob escaped him, it was a chocking sound which made him cough a couple of times. But that was good, considering it left him with less air in his lungs, making him even more light-headed. His head felt so dizzy and empty, he could not see the ceiling any more. Because Brendons eyelids would not open. All Brendon was left with, was the burning from his wrist. The burning that seemed to spread over his whole body. Yeah- there was somebody screaming- but maybe it was just the doors of hell opening for him. Even if Brendon lost his believe ages ago.

 

It was not hell. It was his mother hysterically screaming her head off while calling an ambulance.

 

Brendon Boyd Urie did not died at the age of eighteen.

 

He survived.


	2. Meeting the Bandpeople I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brendon spots MySpace accounts on his first day of school and talks with some part 1.

Brendon could barely stop himself from letting out a sigh- again. Glancing to his right side, trying to not be obvious, he saw a mob of blond hair.His Dad´s new wife of five years was a beautiful women that seemed to be the complete opposite of his Mum. For once, she preferred to stay home because of his younger half-sister, Tyla. Claire was not an extreme workaholic. Instead somebody that took things easy and without pulling her hair out, when a time schedule got messed up. And while his mum had neat, short brown hair, Claire´s was long and looked as if she had not been at the hairdresser in a long time. Her smiles where also soft. And even trough he only knew her for two days, she was better at  _handling_ him then his own Dad. On the other hand, Brendon did not knew about the four year old sister until two days ago. Just like they did not had more then  three days to prepare  for a teenager, that had tried to kill himself, living with the m .

Closing his eyes he leaned his head back against the window. After… that day, he had been in a hospital for a bit longer then a week and afterwards in a clinic for almost a months. The clinic was crap and gave him more problems then it took any. Oh and his  _mother_ , at firs t she tried to sign him up in the clinic for longer. But when the psychiatrist he had for four weeks, explained how she does not believes that “this here is a good place for him to be”, she came to the same conclusion.  In a much bigger sense. She sent  him  to his Dad. From Las Vegas, Nevada too Columbus. Ohio. And hell, if that was not a change in environment. At first, or probably she just said it to make herself feel better, she wanted to drive him the twenty-nine hours. In the end, which did not came as a surprise, Brendon was putted on a airplane for six hours. Partly he understood, she could not do it, taking care of a son that messed up the second floor bathroom.

But nobody gave him a chance to say goodbye- to  _anybody_ .  One and a half week hospital, four clinic and then a short drive home to get his stuff. Almost Everything, making clear that he would not come back any time soon. The only thing he did not really took not with him was his drum kit. Over the half was left in his room to be covered by dust. Every other instrument he owned, a coustic guitar, E-Guitar, keyboard and mix board where with him trough. Which brought almost an hour of being controlled at the airport, because added with everything else, it was so much.  Of course he had much. He was Brendon Urie. If somebody asked, he could not right out tell how many  _hair products_ he owned.  The mix-board got him in the most “trouble”. Apparently it looks like a hidden bomb. At that moment he had not really tried convincing the security guard that it was not trough, Brendon ´ s mind had been elsewhere. He asked himself what his “friends” and actual friends where thinking. Did they somehow knew what he tried? Or was he suddenly just gone for them? Yes, he had his cell-phone back after almost six weeks without it. A cell-phone that should technically have uncountable amounts of phone-numbers. But he deleted his whole contact list out of anger. Even if he now regretted it a bit.

There where exactly four cell-phone numbers he knew by heart, a row of numbers  that where burned in his long term memory. But he was  _scared_ , scared to call or write any of them. Swallowing against the sudden lump in his throat, he moved his right hand to push the left sleeve of his hoodie up by a bit. Before head he never really had been one for bracelets, they could get annoying while playing, well, everything. Now they hid the pretty new looking scar. Moving them aside, he felt for the messed up skin with a barely touch. Pressure still hurt.  Taking a deep breath when he saw the building, Brendon pushed everything back in place. At his old school, without even partly exaggerating it, everybody knew his name. Brendon Urie, the bisexual lead singer of the school-band, that did threesomes with Ryan  Ross and whoever the hell wanted to do it with them.

People called him a asshole, yet they “loved” him. Honestly, he almost had been something like a celebrity. But now? He was hours away from that school. And probably for the first time since before puberty started, he did not really care about his appearance. Yes, he was freshly showered and had pleasant clothes on. But no hair product that would make his hair stay a certain way and glasses instead of contact lenses. Hipster glasses.  And the pleasant clothes? On a completely unfitting and mundane level for him. Dark blue, skinny jeans, that where just kind of skinny instead of clinging to his skin and showing his legs and perfect backside off, a grey hoodie that had a big “FUCK YOU” printed on front and was a size or two too big on him. Not to forget, vans. Black, ordinary vans. No leather shoes.

Even his  _Mum_ would ask him if he was sick.

Shifting slightly in his seat, Brendon took his cell-phone out to check the time. It was half an hour before class started. Yet, as Claire held just in front of the school gate, he already could see all the cars and teenagers standing around. Some greeting each other as if had been years since they last saw each other. Hell, there was a dude- who was eye widening short- that jumped on another guys back. And without joking, Brendon had never in real life seen two people looking more Emo without having a big get-up. He bet they had guy-liner on.

“Brendon”

twitching slightly he turned to Claire, waiting for some bullshit about acting nice and having a great first day. Claire´s eyes where a soft blue, not incredible bright, greyish or dark. “If anything happens and you need to get out from this big drama-club” she nodded to the school building next to them and rolled her eyes, before fixing them back on him. Him, who almost gaped. “just call me and I pick you up” This, not in a hundred years, was something he expected. Was this some kind of trap? Still shocked by her so serious sounding, but casual formed, words he gave her nothing but a nod in return before opening the car door. When he closed it behind him with a loud thud, after slipping out in a smooth movement, pretending that this was _his_ car, and not a family-van, Brendon started walking without looking back. Impolite? Hell yeah. Unusual from him? Hell no. 

Under normal circumstances he could drink up all the attention. How everybody starred at him. Right now his throat felt tight  and he just wanted to stare down at the shoes he had for almost a year, but putted on for the first time last week. Hey, he could understand.  If he would be in their position and a new student showed up two months after a new school year started, Brendon would be  curious too. But reality was, that he was in the position of the new dude and the staring made him feel too self-aware. It was almost as if he was twelve again. Before puberty his full lips and big forehead had looked ridiculous, while baby fat had hidden his high, sharp cheekbones and rather attractive jawline. His hair had been a disaster on itself. So incredible short. Short as in he did not needed shampoo. Every time he saw a picture of that time, he needed to cringe so hard, that it was wonder he did non already pulled something.  Taking a deep breath, Brendon held his chin higher and made a point of walking without looking as if he would stumble any moment. If the fingers of his left hand where twitching slightly, while the right fumbled with the over wrist reaching sleeve, then it was nobody´s business. Brendon was an incredible good actor and his face was one of indifference. No clenched jaw or fast shifting eyes. He managed to look  _bored._ Fuck, he wanted an Oscar for that. 

The school building looked as much like an American high school, as if ´t possibly could. A wide reaching building with three floors and eggshell coloured walls. Most importantly, three American flags. Brendon had been in France,  England and Germany before, none of them did that.  At least this school did not had some kind of school uniforms as a rule, no that was an England-thing.  Brendon faltered just one step when he moved to press one side of the double door open, promptly fallowed by student s behind and next to him that also wanted to enter. 

What was the dress code? Some schools could be incredible freakish about it. In what he hoped was subtle, Brendon glanced around as he walked in a space just a bit slower then before. Normally he really could not care less, but he did  _not_ wanted a scene for once. Or he was just becoming paranoid, imagining this school to be like one of these you see in trash TV. Brendon was fully clothe d , what more could they want? Well… some may would want him less clothes.  Lips twitching with a grin despite the still there stone in his stomach, he registered blond bleached hair... There was a somehow Asian looking guy that had a burning red coloured Mohawk,  a dude wearing-  Was that a  _fucking_ fedora hat? Brendon had w orn them too, but for shows. Not on a casual school day. 

On the other  hand , Brendon did not looked as good in one as this short y . Where many students of this school so short? Looking like middle schoolers in the body height department? 

Oh well, at least this school here did not seemed to have a strict dress code. So if he ever came around to be Brendon again, which sounded sounded strange even saying it just to himself, he would not be stopped at every corner on the days he felt provocative. But to his defence, when he showed up in nothing but these speedos he had been high. Remembering moments like that, made him wonder how nobody locked him up sooner. Probably because he had such a great ass, a pure blessing. Brendon still had it, he still worked out as best as he could in the clinic. Which had made the staff nuts. Something about resting and not putting pressure on himself. But that little running or the couple of sit-ups and push-ups where beside music the only part that kept him sane. The crap he got to hear in the clinic was suffocating to say at least. Brendon had felt _so stupid_ because of it. 

The girl that had always sat next to him in a “group therapy” session, tried the same as him. But she, because of much more serious reasons that he did not wanted to think about. Every fucking patient should have said “trigger warning” before speaking even one word. Honestly, he still did not knew how hearing other people´s problems or telling them how he failed makes anything better for him.  If anything, it made him worse. Every minute that he spend there, had turned Brendon in more of a mess.  The reason behind him being released was that he lost drastically weight, unchanging to how much food he ate. Now, Brendon was not stick thin.  He had always been the slim kind of muscle guy instead of bulky, now the slim just turned narrow.  Uncomfortably. 

T hinking in good humour, Brendon could joke that he looked like more of twink now. Maybe he always had a bit, it just was not obvious with the King of twinks always next to him. Scoffing silently to himself under his breath, Brendon tried concentrating on the task at hand. Since he was so good in concentrating solemnly on one thing. And finding the secretary´s office was not that easy when he needed to find the signs, that may did not existed.  Just taking a guess he walked up to first floor, meet by a horrific sight. Every centimetre of wall was plastered with pale blue lockers that once may did not had a pastel tone.  The only gaps where made by where door lead to classrooms. This corridor could be used for one of these horror films where all lockers jump open while the light flickers as the protagonist trembles along.  The floor rapidly filling with students on the other hand, made him feel like one of these protagonist. Brendon  _really_ did not had a problem with crowds. He actually  _loved_ them. Exactly and mostly when he sung to them. But that sounded to cheesy, to let´s say when he stood over them.  Right now Brendon felt pressure in his head he could not explain. All he knew was that it made him feel a bit light-headed and heart beat faster. The second probably being the reason for the first. More blood, meaning more oxygen, pumped  i n his brain.

A lone in a crowd of people that do not know you, versus around friends in a crowd that cheered on you. Well, the first definitely won the first price in sucking the most. And not even the way he liked it.  Or used to like. Maybe still does. Brendon did not knew, what he knew was that there was a sign. Following the direction he was lead around a corner and meet by the sight of an open door that did not revealed a classroom. Pushing his messy hair back, but not doing anything when it fell right back in the position it had been in, Brendon cleared his throat as he stepped inside and approached the old women sitting behind the reception desk. And taking in her old form, he knew that they would already hate each other. Old people always hated him, something about him tending to be “sacrilegious”, so why the hell should he like someone that disliked him? 

Nevertheless, what made him pause from speaking first where not her green eyes snapping up like a shark smelling blood, it was the sight of her greyish-brown hair in a bun that looked so tight, that his own scalp felt burning. And not the kind that made him horny. “ Yes? How may I help you?”  pressing aside how creepy her voice sounded, old and brittle, Brendon painted on a charming smile. Knowing that it did not even came close to what he used to throw around. But this women did not. He already felt tired of smiling. “a wonderful  g ood morning” there, polite. Would somebody give him a star sticker now? Why was he trying in the first place? “ I´m Brendon Urie, the new student” She made a noise that remembered him of the dog their neighbours had when they still lived in St. George. A sudden, sharp yelp that was to silent to be really called a yelp. “Of course” she said it in a manner that told him that she forgot. “Mr. Urie from Las Vegas” he gave her a nod and looked around when she turned away to look trough a drawer full with folders. The reception was nice but dull. That is all it could be called, nice and dull. Sighing silently he  rocked on his feet and blended the noises of rustling paper out. Brendon could do an attempt at small talk, he certainly was good in it.

Small talk was a nice thing, a couple of sentences said in the right way with a certain body language could get  ~~ them ~~ …  him a new lay.  With his sex-drive having stepped down a bit, his dick just did not felt in the mood for making new acquaintances. Yawing he lifted his glasses slightly to rub over his heavy feeling eyelids. Yeah, Brendon could already tell that today would be great. “Ah! Here we have it” Putting his glasses back in place he gave her attention back, at least one quarter of his attention.  No need to get greedy. 

She held a light brown, mostly empty folder in her hands. On front his name in big letters. Upon opening it, it revealed a printed page that must be his new schedule. The granny seemed to like stating the obvious, because even without his glasses, he would be able to tell from this distance that it was a schedule. “This is your schedule” she held it out to him with a friendly smile “And this here has some of our most important school rules” Both of his eyebrows vanished behind his fringe. Biting his tongue against saying anything or groaning, he instead gave her a stiff smile. Was that a thing? When she lifted the second paper, printed side turned away from him, he imaged a map or something. Not a paper with “the most important rules”. If a whole page was filled up with writing size eleven or ten- then he honestly did not wanted to see the whole thing. Quickly glancing over it, Brendon saw the usual “no drugs” and “respecting the teacher”. But also something about _not respecting_ if other students act out of place. Something about the way it was formulated made it sound sinister, when it must mean going to a teacher when you see a class mate  bullying somebody else. Looking back up he parted his lips to say goodbye, but the old granny was looking at somebody behind him.

To say that the expression was conflicted did not even described it partly. There was something like resignation and acceptance, then again a hint of pity in her eyes that could also be annoyance. She sighed and gave Brendon a quick farewell before turning back to whoever stood behind him. “Mr. Way” only muttering a quick “bye” he turned around on the spot. Meet with the sight of a boy with glasses and a serious emo-fringe. “What is it this time?” the boy frowned at her, not even glancing at him before rushing past him to stand in front of the old granny. That was new. And somehow refreshing. Leaving the office with a last glance back he asked himself how many “MySpace accounts” walked around here. His old school did not really had any. Just them. Once upon a time, as in around a year ago, he also had been a member of the emo-fringe team.

His visit to the granny lasted at most five minutes, but now the halls where already empty. Just here and there lingered students in front of their lockers, the others already sat in the classroom. Taking his phone out to check the time, he saw that there where still ten minutes left until class started. So what the hell? How tame where these kids? Feeling freaked out by their antics he crumpled up the paper with the school rules and threw it across the hall. It hit the rim of the trash can and bounced away to land on the floor.  Pouting just a bit he looked at his schedule just to curse under his breath. Math. His first class was Math. Brendon was not horrible in it or failed the class, but it was behind history one of the most boring subjects for him to have. At least he had biology after that, this was okay. Somehow. He felt more motivated the ever to be a good student. Swallowing the strong state of sarcasm down, he searched for his P.E class. Before he had loved it but now he was wearing bracelets he defiantly would no t take off. Making the one class that he had always be fine with, to his worst. Monday, first class. With luck the teacher would not care about the bracelets, if… well, then screw them. The new him he had planned this morning, when he picked his clothes out and did not styled his hair, was becoming difficult. New him was… Brendon did not knew. But making a scene by fighting with a teacher about his constant choice of acc essory seemed stupid.

“Uh” grimacing just a bit before he turned around to the source of the awkward noise, he saw Emo-fringe Glasses. Or well, Mr. Way. But he found that his sounded way cooler. Oh yeah, he so did. “Yes?” the guy frowned again, before shacking his head just a bit. Barely a tilt of his head. “Ms. Smith” really? Smith? “told me, to bring you to Mr. Sumir´s Math class” he sounded so delighted and happy about it. To be given the honourable task of leading the new guy around. “Nah” he said not even a second after glasses had finished speaking. “Room 1.108, on this floor right?” the guy nodded, so he turned again and walked away “But thank´s” Brendon hesitated, calling him by that perfect nick name could be taken as an insult, while saying his surname without having been told it directly, could be creepy. “Mickey” he offered, “Okay” this was getting strangely awkward. Since when could a situation with him be awkward? Maybe if he turned around it would be less, but he had turned around so often already. “Then thank´s Mickey” Even without looking, Brendon could see the relieve on glasses face. If he knew that Brendon did this because he could not bring himself to play his game at the moment, he probably would feel insulted as well. 

New, fresh start. One he did not really wanted. But that did not mattered, since nothing he said seemed to matter. But how was he supposed to do that new start? This was real life and people like Brendon could not just suddenly be all innocent and well-behaved again.  Walking around another corner he saw the room numbers getting higher.  _1.103, 1.104, 1.105_ .  By now there was really nobody left on the floors- or not. Two girls where sitting in front of an open locker. At the subject locker, he should find time to search for his. The number stood in his schedule. For now it did not had any haste trough. His bag was light with nothing but a pencil case and writing pad in it. Meeting the girls eyes, they smiled friendly but slightly confused at him.  A bottle blond and natural seemed brown hair with a red tinge. Both where pretty. Four months ago pretty enough that he would have started flirting.  Foursomes where tricky, but they could work. If only one of them wanted, it would be a much easier threesome. Because that had been the rule. If they invited another person in their sex life for one night, then the other must always be part of it too.  But  _he_ broke that rule, did he not? Ryan had broken it so many time that Brendon asked himself how he had not seen it. Returning the smile and ignoring the bitter taste in his mouth, he walked just a bit faster.  _1.106, 1.107._ And there he was _1.108_ .  Lifting his right hand to open the door he hesitated for a second, his stomach felt heavy and he wanted to close his eyes for a moment, take a deep breath. But the girls where still watching him curiously. Pulling his hand back he pushed his hair back out of his face and knocked with his left. New him, so no jumping in like the front of the classroom was a stage. When there came no response trough, not even after the second time he knocked, he threw that simple sign of politeness out the window and opened the door. Maybe he should have knocked another hundred time s more, with how the teacher glared at him.  A, for Math, surprisingly young teacher. “And you are?” his voice had a strangely monotone note to it, making him already see how energetic this class would end up to be. The man, presumingly Mr. Sumir, held a piece of chalk in his hand and was in the middle of writing something down on the board.

 

_Alg_

 

Wonderful. He was about to write down Algebra, was he not? “Brendon Urie, and you?” this was his attempt at politeness while he could not care less. The teacher should be happy that he was not flirting with him. Not that he would out of interest. Because beside what everybody was thinking, he had his standards. And a teacher in his mid thirty's, with no great body to show and looking straight as fuck, was not in his standards.

“I think, Mr. Urie” he was thinking? Wow. How dangerous. “that you should go back to your class”. It was almost ridiculous, how pressed and yet completely monotone his voice was. Making a point by leaning back and looking at the number plate of the room outside, he meet the teachers eyes again. “If you are Mr. Sumir, then this is my class” A pained expression appeared on Mr. Sumir´s face, making him feel really loved. “I wasn´t informed about a new student” Was he _serious_? What kind of dork would try sneaking in a Math class? Music he would understand, Brendon actually tried and managed. But _fucking_ Math? Math was boring more often then not. Sitting still or listening was close to impossible in this subject. His good behaviour whispered him to be just a jerk about it. And his mind was too sleepy to come up with something more reasonable then: “Well fuck man, so sad I won´t will have Math”.

He had wanted coffee this morning, sipping a cup or two like he always did. Just to make his body break free of the haze. But his Dad was against it. Not against the coffee. Because what kind of messed up, must somebody be to dislike coffee? By now you could make coffee taste like everything and even have one without caffeine. No, he was just against Brendon drinking it. When he was putted in the clinic- no, since he was in the hospital, Brendon had a quick stop to smoking. For once he obviously could neither smoke nicotine or weed in a hospital or clinic and for another because his Mum, who had never really cared, threw his stock of cigarettes and joints away. Brendon would never say that he was addicted, at least not really. Cigarettes where nice and weed helped slowing him down. Stopping from one day to another had not killed him or made him nuts with cravings. Just a bit of an itch. But coffee? Brendon had always drank a cup in the morning. Now trough, coffee was more then just something he simply did to be less grumpy in the morning. Coffee was _necessary_ if you are an insomniac high schooler.

At his swear, Mr. Sumir´s shoulder straightened slightly, as if he was about to scold him for swearing. No words left his parting lips trough, since he was interrupted. By a surprisingly even voice. Not raspy or high, not the strange breaking point boys in their teens often had. Deep without being deep. “He´s a new student” glancing away from the teacher to look to the source of the voice, Brendon was meet by the sight of another “MySpace account” His guy-liner was on point and the green day shirt looked as if it had been washed a thousand times.There was a short, almost heavy silence, in which he realised that shorty was sitting next to the “MySpace account”. Which, from the barely there height difference, must be just a bit taller then Shorty one. Shorty one… Fedora Shorty and MySpace Shorty. Or guy-liner shorty. “… I trust you with that Mr. Wentz” from the bewildered look on guy-liner shorty´s face, that was a strange thing for the teacher to say. “Mr. Urie, please sit down and take your material out- I will sort this out later” Nodding slowly he glanced back around. The only empty seat was behind the shorty-duo. Closing the classroom door, Brendon walked to the seat and sat down.

Unsure if he should thank his knight in shining bandmerch armour for saving him from… escaping Math. Sitting down, he did. “Thank´s” Guy-liner turned around and gave him an awkward smile with a nod. “No Problem” after another short pause and glance to fedora, he held his hand out. “I´m Pete”. Barely stopping himself from raising his eyebrows he returned the hand shacking gesture. Which was strangely polite for people their age. At that, Fedora did the same. Just that his smile, while also holding a hint of awkwardness, held a strange shine to it. “Patrick” not because of white teeth. Just something bright. Also shacking his hand he shrugged once. “Brendon” he said, despite them obviously knowing that since he already said it. For the first time in ages, he felt awkward about something himself. A really alien feeling. At least there was silence afterwards, giving him the possibility to just zone out but kept looking at the board in the pretend that he was paying attention. “And never call me Peter” twitching slightly his gaze slipped to Pete´s back that was still turned to him. Waiting a second he answered in the same whispered volume. “What if I do?” now Pete did turned back around, seeming to really not care just how obvious it was that they where chatting now. There was innocent humour in his voice as he continued.“Then nobody can proof anything”. He almost wanted to laugh, just almost. Patrick turned as well, stopping him from asking if that sentence was not a bit too cliché. “Don´t take him serious” Patrick was not rolling his eyes, but it was openly in his voice.

Brendon was a master in not taking _anything_ serious. So no difficulties there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU so much! For reading it and all. I didn´t expected to get more then maybe 3 hits XD. So really, I don´t know how to say thank you in a way that express how happy I am about it.
> 
> (I parted the first chapter in two because it seemed to be a bit too long o.o, but I´m going to upload the second part later today as well.)

**Author's Note:**

> Soooo.... I write since a looong time. But this is the first fanfiction I´m publishing. It´s around 2/3 finished and I just need to edit the rest, so I´m probably going to update every Saturday/Sunday.   
> And english isn´t my mother language, so if somebody can see mistakes please comment them. If you want.


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